you are in the middle of
a transformational process
she said
which began 24 human months ago
does that mean it’ll end and if so how
there are no guarantees
I told my almost lover
it was cold by the window
and he walked away I wanted to too
but where would I go
I’m scared again
in the dark groping for some stars to wrap around
the infinite blah blah blah
or smaller than that the
Indian girls in the dream tricked me into saying
you are god’s lightbulb
I am god’s lightbulb only in hindi
so I didn’t know what I meant
and they laughed and laughed
were they laughing at me or playing the divine trickster
like the stooped grandmother weaving her perfect
quilt and the little one near her trying to get
it right, quilting and ripping, quilting and ripping
until in her anguish she turned to the grandmother
(because in these stories they are always facing outward, not towards one another but towards some invisible greater whole of which they are a part)
and said
your quilts are soand mine are so
teach me how to
and the grandmother turned to her
and said
who do you think you are
which sucked
but it’s like that
we think we are too nothing to aspire to greatness
too foolish but really there’s nothing to aspire to.
According to the cycle of the seasons February 17 is the feast of the stupid.
It dawned on me chopping the ends off of nearly gone bad green beans
that I am not perfect, really, this occurred to me
and it was a relief
and also a terrible disappointment

if I am not perfect
then I can’t make the world love me
and if I can’t make the world love me
then I can’t be saved it’s an endless cycle and I’m so tired
of trying
to eat well and enough, exercise, 1 hour a day perfectly split into 3 20 minute segments, take igg and colostrom, 1 tablespoon twice a day,
2 allicin garlic tablets to kill the parasite 3 times a day,
3 lactobacillus 2 times a day to grow the friendly flora,
stroke my belly whenever possible and whisper I love you,
2 heaping teaspoons of c, one e,
2 quercetin with each meal to heal the leaky gut,
it’s a real diagnosis I assure my almost lover who wants me to go on paxil
wants me to prove to him that I am really sick and that I’ll be fine
or that I’m really fine and that it’s all in my head
but I’m not even sure where my head is anymore
they found brain cells in the intestines
and optic nerve cells in the 3rd eye
when will I get better I can’t predict the future she said
just like jesus the catholic priest talked to in the his suv on nbc last night.
it is terrifying
to allow that the answer maybe never
and exhausting to think that the answer maybe it’s up to you
the little one quilting and ripping, quilting and ripping
as if she could make a perfect grown up ceremonial something out of crooked scraps
who do you think you are
sometimes, the grandmother turned to her and away from the invisible greater whole
of which she was a part,
sometimes when it’s looking too good, I’ll pull some stitches out, add a flaw or two
so that the person who wears it can remember what a blessing it is to be human

cracks where the light can come through
I’ve said it myself a million times
but tonight alone by the window
almost lover no where near it’s hard to believe
tonight I just want to sew grandmother’s quilt beautiful and practiced
and have the spirits wrap me up in it a million stars around my shoulders
the infinite blah blah bluh but smaller than that more intimate
and rock me back and forth back and forth
and sing sweet and soft in my ear

every little thing is gonna be alright
every little thing is gonna be alright.

Sweigh Emily Spilkin, MFA is a poet, healer, and guide. Sweigh lives in a sleepy corner of Boulder, CO where she wanders through the foothills, teaches poetry, practices chi kung energy healing, and on a good day, writes. Sweigh loves and is terrified of the Mystery. Over the last three years, a journey with chronic illness has taught her lessons she never wanted to learn, and she is grateful. Sweigh received her MFA in poetry from Naropa University in 2000.

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